3 Of Steel Strings & Saturday Mornings
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: Newt gets sick, so Minho decides to take care of him. He ends up getting something in return...


Of Steel Strings &amp; Saturday Mornings

...

It was early on a Saturday morning. Sunlight fell in a golden square through the window, spilling across the floor. It lit the two forms of Minho and Newt under the sheets, fast asleep. Well, one of them was fast asleep anyway.

Minho winced and turned his head away from the sun's glare. Reaching up lazily, he speared his fingers back through his hair, turning it into a tousled black mess. God, how early was it? He didn't feel like getting up yet, but he knew he should. He sighed and began to push himself up onto his elbows. As he did, a sleepy noise of protest came from the beautiful blonde next to him; Newt tightened his hold on Minho's waist, his fingers playing with the waistband of his boxers. "Fi...five more...minutes," he mumbled, rubbing his cheek against Minho's bare chest.

Minho grinned and smoothed the hair back from Newt's forehead. "My lovely angel," he murmured. He tilted his head to peer down at Newt's flawless face. "You want me to stay?"

"Mmhmm," Newt hummed, still half-lost in some dream. "Jus' a little...longer..."

Minho loved when Newt was like this. He traced a fingertip down Newt's nose. "You love me?" he asked innocently.

"Mm...love you..." Newt sank back into a deeper sleep again.

Minho's heart swelled in his chest. "Yeah," he whispered softly. "I love you too." He kissed Newt's forehead tenderly. Very carefully, he guided Newt's hand from his waist and shifted to the edge of the bed. He sat up, feet over the side, and paused. He let himself watch his husband sleep for several moments, golden hair falling across his eyes, eyelashes twitching. He was so stunning in that instant, that it took Minho's breath away. He would never grow tired of waking up in Newt's arms every day. He let out a long breath and stood up.

Minho padded down the hallway to the kitchen, scrubbing the back of his head in lingering sleepiness. As he walked, a tiny meow sounded behind him. Glancing down, he spotted the red-black-and-white form of Coal trotting down the hall next to him. A smile tugged at his lips. "Hey, Coal," he greeted quietly. The kitten mewed again and stopped when he did. She let him bend down to scratch her ears. Then she turned and started back toward the bedroom.

"Coal, you can't go back there," Minho protested, scooping her up into his arms. "You'll wake up Newt." He straightened up, holding her against his chest with one arm and petting her back with his free hand. She purred happily in return. "Crazy cat," he muttered, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Then he paused. "Shuck, Newt's right. I really do have a freaking soft spot for you." He rolled his eyes at himself and continued into the kitchen.

He set Coal down on the floor near the counter and she walked off to find other entertainment. Holding back a yawn, he stopped in front of the coffeemaker. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and the sugar. Minho also had a soft spot for coffee in the morning. It was bordering on an addiction, really. He'd only just poured the coffee when muffled footsteps came from behind him. He smiled because he knew it was Newt, and then he heard Newt's voice. "Mmm...Minho?" It was still thick with his British accent, but there was a raspiness to it that wasn't right.

"Hey, Newt," Minho replied, turning to look over his shoulder. He blinked. Newt stood a few feet away by the counter, wearing a white tee and the most adorable red-and-black pj bottoms. But his stormy blue eyes were ringed with dark circles and his skin was paler than usual. As Minho watched, the blonde covered his mouth to stifle a shaky cough.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Minho asked, crossing the room to Newt. He took Newt's shoulders gently in his hands.

Newt coughed again. "I gotta bloody headache," he muttered raspingly. "And my throat...hurts."

Minho pushed Newt's hair back and touched a hand to his forehead. "You have a fever," he murmured.

"Dammit," Newt mumbled, like he screwed up by getting sick. He took a breath and it rattled in his throat. He winced.

"Oh, sweetheart." Minho went to pull Newt into his arms. He was surprised when Newt planted his hands on his chest to stop him.

"I don't wanna get you sick."

"You won't. I don't care."

"Well, I care. I'm not gonna touch you." Newt's eyes trailed down Minho's powerful shoulders and deliciously toned abs. "Even though you look so damn hot," he muttered under his breath.

Minho smirked playfully. "Your loss," he teased and Newt rolled his eyes. Then he coughed again, harder than before. A tiny sound of pain left him as he held his throat. Minho frowned and started to guide Newt to the doorway. "Okay, c'mon, Newt," he murmured. "You're not doing anything for a while."

"Don't make a big deal out of this," Newt pleaded, allowing Minho to lead him back out into the hallway. "I'm not that sick." His voice came out as a croak, proving him wrong.

Minho didn't listen to him; he just kept walking back to the bedroom. "I'm running a bath for you," he decided. He heard Newt groan indignantly and he tossed a smile at his husband. "You want bubbles?" he asked playfully.

"Don't do anything for me, Min," Newt replied. "I'm just sick. I'll be fine in a few days. I don't want to annoy you by making you do everything for me."

Minho brought Newt into the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed. Then he knelt down in front of him, cupping his face in his hands. "It won't annoy me," he insisted gently. "You're my husband, I love you. I wanna take care of you." He stroked his thumb over Newt's cheek and Newt leaned into his touch with a contented sigh.

"You're too sweet to me, Minho," Newt mumbled, shaking his head. A half-smile quirked his lips.

Minho placed a small kiss on Newt's nose. Then he stood up again. "Okay. I'm getting you that bath. Be back in five minutes." He stopped at the door. "You want anything? Something for your throat? Soup, water, tea?"

Newt just looked at him. The dark rims under his eyes made him look tired and of course, sick. "Can you come here a second?" he asked suddenly.

Minho went back to stand questioningly in front of Newt. Newt pushed up off the bed and placed his hands on Minho's chest. He quickly kissed Minho's mouth. "I love you."

Minho smiled crookedly. "Love you too, angel," he whispered, gliding his hands up and down Newt's back. He cocked his head to one side. "Now, what do you want me to get for you?"

Newt sighed. "Tea did sound good..."

"All right then. No problem."

"When you make it, can you use—?"

"Honey instead of sugar, and the cinnamon tea because it's your favorite," Minho cut him off. Newt blinked and Minho just shrugged. "I know you."

Newt smiled. "Yeah. You do."

-o-o-o-

The doctor said it was a cold.

A very severe cold, but just a cold nonetheless. It was nice to hear that it wasn't anything else.

Minho walked through the front door and carefully set his guitar case down, hoping he wouldn't make a sound. Glancing around, he headed down the hall toward the living room. Everything was quiet. "Newt? Baby? You alive?" He came into the living room and blinked when no one was there. Newt hadn't moved from that couch for two days. Where—?

Minho nearly jumped out of his skin when two hands wrapped around his waist from behind. Then he grinned when he felt the lithely muscular form of Newt pressed up against his back and the blonde rested his chin on his shoulder. "Hey, Min," he murmured, kissing Minho's neck.

Minho closed his hands over Newt's on his stomach. "Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah." Newt continued to leave tiny kisses up Minho's neck.

"That's good," Minho murmured.

Newt nibbled at Minho's skin and Minho tipped his head back, letting out a soft whimper. "I'm gonna miss you taking care of me," the blonde whispered. He let his fingers trace Minho's stomach through his black tee.

"I can still take care of you," Minho mumbled absently, growing drunk on his husband's touch. "Just in different ways."

Newt touched a kiss to Minho's jaw, then drew back slightly. "I have something for you," he murmured. A smile lit his voice.

Minho blinked and glanced over his shoulder. Newt's blue eyes glimmered. "You do? What is it?"

Newt laughed. "Come on," he said, tugging at Minho's shirt. "I'll show you."

Minho followed Newt into the kitchen. He'd only made it in three steps before Newt turned to face him. A smile quirked the blonde's lips. "Close your eyes." Minho huffed a breath, but did as he was told. His mouth curved up when Newt kissed him briefly, just a brush of their lips together. Then Newt backed away and Minho waited. He could hear movement, a funny shifting sound, but he couldn't figure out what it was. The shifting stopped moments later and Newt's voice sounded. "Okay, you can open them now." Minho opened his eyes—and stared.

It was a guitar. A beautiful, brand-new guitar. Its lazy curves glowed under the kitchen lights and the steel strings gleamed. It was lying in an open case on the marble island. Newt was leaning on the counter beside it, watching Minho's reaction. "I mean, I knew that yours was getting old," he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "And you were always complaining the about how you'd have to use one of the music store's guitars one day, so I thought..." He trailed off with a shrug. "You like it?"

Minho stepped up to the counter and trailed his fingers over the smooth surface of the guitar. "I love it," he murmured. He glanced sharply up at Newt. "How much did this cost you?"

"It doesn't matter," Newt replied. "Don't worry about it."

"I didn't want you to spend so much on me..."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to."

Minho chuckled and shook his head. Then he reached out and pulled at Newt's shirtsleeve. "C'mere." Newt grinned and moved to stand next to Minho. Minho looped his arms around Newt's waist and the blonde instinctively rested his hands on Minho's shoulders. Smiling softly, Minho rubbed soothing circles into the small of Newt's back. The blonde hummed in pleasure, his back curving under Minho's fingertips. With his white-gold shock of hair, and his creamy skin, and those night-blue eyes, he looked like an angel. Minho could've looked at him forever. "How did I ever live without you?" he asked quietly.

Newt rested their foreheads together. "I ask myself the same thing about you," he whispered, "every single day."


End file.
